


Cutting the Strings

by garbage_will_do



Series: Twin!Holmes [2]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond is a badass, But he still hasn't gotten an exploding pen, M/M, Oblivious!Mycroft, Past Abuse, Post Reichenbach, Protective!Sherlock, Q and Sherlock are sneaky twins, Q and Sherlock are twins, Q is a Holmes, Sebastian doesn't stand a chance, very VERY brief mention of past Sherlock/Victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbage_will_do/pseuds/garbage_will_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has one last target. One last strand of the web to break.</p><p>or</p><p>Sherlock goes head-to-head with Moran, while Bond gets put on protection duty of a certain doctor. ...Oh, and Mycroft is thoroughly confused by everything that is going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so in A Study in Pink John meets Sherlock in January, and in The Reichenbach Fall John's therapist says he hasn't been back for 18 months. This is set 6 months after Reichenbach and one week after 'Favors'. So I'm thinking late January or early February.
> 
> I will try to fit this into 3 parts and update regularly.
> 
> Enjoy and comment below!

Sherlock arrived back in London on a private jet at 3:28 am, courtesy of Q. He had been wary of the idea at first, but his brother had assured him that he could erase the records so Mycroft would never know. According to all the files, the flight never existed.

The detective was then met on the tarmac with a standard MI-6 car driven by the 00 agent he had seen over the webcam feed. Obviously former Navy from the way he held himself, and his hands were deadly whether there was a gun in it or not. He could just be a field agent, but a man of his talents working for the British Secret Service could only be a 00. It was just a question of which one.

Sherlock quickly scanned the man in front of him. Six-foot-one, 250 pounds (mostly muscle), male, blue eyes, hair that had once been blonde but was now greying. That left only two options. 007 or 002. Going by the military background and the calculating gaze, that left only one.

"007," Sherlock drawled. He held out his hand in greeting.

There was a flicker of surprise before Bond smirked and shook the proffered hand. "Mr. Holmes. Q said you were good."

"Yes, how _is_ my little brother? You're treating him well, I hope." Bond recognized a threat when he heard one, especially when it was delivered with a predatory gleam in the eyes of the older brother of his boyfriend. " _Then again_ ," Sherlock continued, "it is generally understood that he can take care of himself. He's probably already told you he's the more dangerous one in your relationship."

"Yes. Yes, he has." The agent sweeped a hand to the car. "Shall we?"

Sherlock nodded and moved to the passenger seat as Bond got in to drive. As they drove through the streets of London, Sherlock attempted to figure out where Sebastian Moran was hiding out. It had been a week since he had hacked MI-6's mainframe and alerted his twin to the fact he was still alive. He had been in Berlin destroying a human trafficking ring that was one of the last strings in Moriarty's complex criminal web. It was the last step before he took down Moriarty's right hand man, and - as he had found out - the sniper assigned to kill John if Sherlock hadn't 'died'.

Lestrade's would be killer had been first. It was easy to pick him out from the crowd at the next crime scene. He looked far to fidgety to be just a new one on the force, and he had kept watching the roofs of the surrounding buildings. No doubt the idiot figured he had outlived his usefulness since he needn't kill his target after all. Sherlock had followed him home to a dingy flat and scared the weaker man into giving the names of the other assassins and anyone else he had known under the consulting criminal's umbrella. He then gave the man an overdose of heroin and left him to be found by whoever noticed him missing. Then he did the same with the one that had targeted Mrs. Hudson, only he put an air bubble into his bloodstream via the artery in his armpit.

Both men had claimed Col. Moran was assigned to John Watson. With further investigation into drug cartels, trafficking rings, assassination schemes, and whatever else he could find, Sherlock discovered that Moran had in fact taken over in Jim's... _absence_. It seemed no one knew that their boss was dead. (The fact that his body had been found on the roof Sherlock had jumped from was kept extremely quiet by everyone at the NSY. Most likely because they didn't want to admit they might have been wrong about Sherlock.)

So the question was: Where was Moran now? Between jobs destroying Moriarty's network - whether from the inside or by placing an anonymous call to the local police - Sherlock had traced Moran's movements. From Paris to Sydney, all around China and Russia, through Italy and America and Mexico. Last he had heard Moran was off in Brazil helping the local drug lords hide cocaine in with shipments of coffee grounds. Sherlock had arrived too late by only a few hours then.

Of course, these days, thoughts of Moran led to thoughts of John. Somehow the simple, ordinary army doctor had wormed his way past Sherlock's prickly demeanor, and all of the barriers he had constructed around his heart and mind after the _incident_ with Victor. Looking back, he suspected it had started the first time John had called him "amazing" in the cab on the way to the crime scene with the pink lady. By the time he realized what was happening as they sat at Angelo's, the damage was already done. His barriers had increased two-fold, but it was a futile attempt to keep out something that was already inside.

Quentin had been right though. Sherlock loved John. So much that he had done the only thing with acceptable consequences. It didn't matter if Sherlock had died or not. It only mattered that John was alive and safe. But with Moran now in London, John was in danger.

"We're here." Sherlock was knocked from his musings at the sound of Bond's voice. He looked out the windows to see they were parked outside of an expensive building of flats. Taking stock of where they were, he realized they were on a completely different side of the city than he expected to be. So, not his twin's flat then.

Bond led the way up to the third floor and down the hall to number 14. He knocked lightly then unlocked the door, pushing it open to allow Sherlock in before him.

***

Q, or Quentin as he was known to his family, was sat on the couch in Bond's sitting room watching the progress of the car as it brought his brother home. He redirected all the CCTV cameras so Mycroft wouldn't see a MI-6 car driving form the airport for no apparent reason, then erased the record of the tracker in the car. Before long the blinking red dot was at the address. There was a light knock then the scraping of a key in the lock. Sherlock stepped into the sitting room a moment later.

"Ah, Quentin. Good to see you doing well."

"Sherlock." Q cocked his head to the side as he took in his older brother. "What happened to the disguise?" Gone was the blonde hair and goatee. The detective was once again clean shaven and growing out his black curls, sporting his trademark Belstaff coat and cashmere scarf.

"I no longer needed it," Sherlock answered. "Once I dismantled the human trafficking ring in Berlin, I didn't need to be cautious that people would recognize me. The only one that matters is Sebastian Moran now. He either knows I'm alive or he doesn't. If he doesn't, then seeing me will throw him off balance; he'll make a mistake, and that's when I'll take him down."

Bond then entered the room carrying two mugs of tea, handing one first to Sherlock then to Q on the couch. He moved to a table with tumblers and a decanter to pour himself a scotch, and returned to the couch to sit beside Q. Sherlock watched the way the agent and quartermaster interacted, and couldn't help but envy that he wouldn't be able to have that with John until the threat was dealt with, if at all.

"Sherlock, you'll be staying here," Q announced.

The man in question took a sip of his tea and frowned. " _Here?_ Why not at your flat?"

Q looked over the rims of his glasses at his twin, then returned to his computer. "James and I are rarely ever here. No one will even think to find you here as they don't know of our relationship, or that James and I are together in anything more than professional matter." There was a pause then he added, "Mycroft also drops by my flat every so often, and I assume you still don't want him to know you're alive."

Sherlock scowled at that. " _No_ , I don't. He'll just get in the way, or worse tell John I'm alive and put him in danger."

Bond looked confused at that. "Why would him knowing you're alive put him in danger?"

"Tell me, 007, if my brother faked his death, and you found out he was alive, what would you do?"

"I'd go looking for him so I could bring him home."

" _Exactly_ ," the detective snarled. "If John finds out I'm alive, he'll come looking. And that will alert Moran to carry out the last orders he got from Moriarty. John will be cold and dead before I can get to Moran and stop him." A weaker man would have flinched away from Sherlock's scathing glare, but Q was used to his temper and Bond was a 00 agent. "Everything I've done will be for _nothing_ if he's not alive when it's over."

Q studied his older brother, turning the infamous Holmes family's disecting gaze onto the one that used it the most. Sherlock shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable for the scrutiny to come from his twin. "Our whole lives you never really cared about anyone outside the family, Sherlock. Most of the time you didn't care about father or Mycroft either. But now... Now you do care. You care about John and what happens to him." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when Q continued. "You always depised the ordinary people. And by definition, Dr. Watson is very ordinary. Nothing special about him except being a former army doctor and being able to put up living with you. So what was it about him that made you take notice? What's so _special_ about John Watson that Sherlock Holmes started _caring_?"

Sherlock looked very vulnerable then. So vunerable that Q wondered if maybe he had gone too far this time. But it was too late because the words were already out of his mouth. So instead of apologizing and telling his brother to 'just never mind, he didn't need to know', he stayed silent and waited for Sherlock to say something.

The detective had thought about it before. How had a seemingly ordinary army doctor drawn him in like a moth to a flame? He sighed and sank into a nearby chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "There was once when another ordinary person caught my attention - in uni - as you'll remember." And Q did remember. He remembered seeing his twin brother being happier than when they were kids playing pirates - all because of one man in his advanced bio-chem class. A few months later, Sherlock started getting abused and that's how his addiction to cocaine had started. Mycroft had been able to get Sherlock into rehab and make the guy disappear, but the damage was done. Sherlock disappeared back into a shell of apathy and aloofness. The detective was more careful about getting high under his brothers' radar afterwards, and didn't truly get clean until DI Lestrade found him during an overdose. "Well... You know how that ended. But _John_..." Sherlock trailed off, clearly disappearing into his own head. Then he blinked back into the present. "The first night together I took him to a crime scene and deduced his life story in the cab. And instead of the normal 'piss off' or 'freak' he said it was _amazing, extraordinary, fantastic_. He said no to Mycroft's money to spy on me. And then he shot the serial killer we were chasing before I had to take the damn pill. He was a soldier that got the same thrill from the chase, yet a doctor that set boundries on everything." His eyes rose to meet Q's. "And despite the eyes in the microwave, the head in the fridge, the experiments throughout the flat, and me chasing off all his _boring_ girlfriends... He didn't leave. Even at the end he wouldn't believe anything other than what he knew to be true after eighteen months of living with me. So he has to survive, because I can't let the last thing I ever said to him be a lie."

Q smiled then, and said, "Then I guess we need to get to work." 

*** 

Sebastian Moran popped off the top of the beer bottle and returned to his post by the window. His favorite rifle was already set up and pointed towards the window of 221B Baker St. Despite what he had seen, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Sherlock Holmes was still alive.

In the nearly seven months since Jim's death, contacts all over the world were suddenly disappearing into jail and prison cells. There were only two people that had that kind of reach. One hated legwork, and the other was supposed to be dead.

So he was here in a flat across from 221B, keeping an eye out for the detective. Because sooner or later - unless he really was dead - Holmes would go back to Watson. Then again, if Holmes knew about Jim's pet sniper, perhaps he would stay away to protect the doctor.

Well then... Maybe it was time to send a little message to draw him out. Sebastian smiled, and took a swig from his beer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Got caught up in RL. But I decided I'm going to stay on top of things this year, and what better time to start writing Sherlock fic again than now?
> 
> As always I appreciate comments and kudos! Enjoy!

“John, dear!” Mrs. Hudson’s voice floated up the stairs of the flat. “There’s a young man here to see you. Seems quite urgent!”

The doctor found it interesting how quickly the media got over the death of Sherlock Holmes. Not even a week had passed after the funeral before the reporters and journalists lost interest in the man left behind. And yet… there were still some, seven months later, that thought they could bother him by trying to refresh the story every few weeks. Usually, Mrs. Hudson would just guilt-trip the unsuspecting leeches into leaving the two of them alone, but sometimes they didn’t leave and John would have to threaten bodily harm or calling Lestrade to get them gone.

And he fully expected this to be just another asking for an interview, but was stopped short when he saw the familiar face of one of Sherlock’s network.

“Raz,” John said with surprise. The teen in question was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Come in, come in.”

“No. No it’s better if I stay outside.”

“Well… what are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since the funeral.” And that was true. John had expected it to be small despite the amount of press surrounding the event considering there weren’t many people in Sherlock’s life that actually cared about him. So of course it had been him, Mrs. Hudson, Mike, Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft, as well as a few clients that didn’t believe the stories. But he had been surprised at the number of people that showed up who were part of his ‘homeless network’. And then there was the other man that looked like a near replica of the detective, but he still was unable to figure out who he was.

“This, uh… This bloke came up to me yesterday, real posh-like, y’know, but scary – had this nasty scar across his face. He told me to bring you a message,” the teen replied, handing over a folded slip of paper. “Said it was important you read it while I was here.” Raz shrugged as if to say ‘people are so strange’.

John looked suspicious as he unfolded the note, and was justified a minute later. Because John barely had time to read it and look up in question to Raz before he felt the warm spray of blood on his face. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the teens body drop on the steps and the blood seep out onto the concrete, while he could hear screams distantly of onlookers on the street. And when time had finally caught up and his military training had kicked in, John rushed forward to check for a pulse. Finding none, the doctor reluctantly sat back and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he hadn’t in seven months.

***

 “John? John, you alright?” The army doctor looked up at the familiar voice. He was still in a bit of daze, sitting on the front step. There were officers and paramedics still milling about, though it seemed most of the evidence had already been gathered. “Did you know him?”

“Hm?” John finally turned to look up at Greg. “Oh. Yeah. He, uh… His name was Raz; he was one of- One of his network, y’know?” Greg nodded, and it all seemed to hit John, then. “God, he was just a kid. Still a teenager… He was a good kid – a vandal, but a good kid… Ha, I got an ASBO ‘cause of him once. He just ran off and left me standing there with all his spray paint.”

“Look, John, do you know why he was targeted? Do you know of anyone that would’ve done this to him?”

John shook his head. “No, I didn’t know him that well. Only met him a handful of times, but I don’t think he was on anyone’s list. I think he was just convenient.” He uncrumpled the paper in his hand to show it to the detective. “See here? He said some posh bloke with a nasty scar on his face told him to bring me this.”

“May I?”

“’Course.”

John could see when Greg put it together. “No… You don’t think…? But why threaten you? Why warn you at all?”

“To bring him out,” he said with a shrug. “Apparently no one told him the game was over.”

“But if he really is dead, then what? Is whoever going to kill you anyway? Seems a bit unfair…” Lestrade thought about it for a minute. Absently, he bagged the note and handed it over for labeling. “Listen, do you want someone to stay here with you? You know, just to keep an eye out?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.  Just…let me know if you find anything?” Greg nodded, and reluctantly turned go.

***

There was a beeping sound coming from the laptop, and Q checked it immediately. He had spent the better part of the morning creating a program to alert him when certain words or phrases came up in police reports. He hadn’t expected it to get a hit so soon. Quickly scanning the screen, his eyes widened and he scrambled to call his brother.

It had barely rung when he answered. “Sherlock!” Out of the corner of his eye the youngest Holmes caught sight of his partner buttoning up his shirt, fresh out of the shower. Bond smirked at the attention, but frowned when he saw the worry. “Sherlock, there’s been a shooting at Baker Street. No, not John. He’s okay.” He paused, no doubt to let Sherlock speak, then said, “I’m looking at the police report right now. It was definitely him because it was a sniper bullet they found, and the trajectory matches a spot across the street and a few doors down… Oh. It was Raz. Apparently, he had one of your network take a message to John.” Q looked up briefly when Bond sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, hold on. It says ‘Tell him he has two days to show his face, or you’ll be next’… Shit! So he knows you’re alive.” The computer genius ran a hand through his crazy curls, and began typing furiously. With the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he continued, “Look, I’m sending you the information, and I’ll send James over to keep an eye out, alright? And don’t even think about going out right now. I’ll know if you do.”

Q hung up before any protests could be made. “Well then, James,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I think it’s time you and Dr. Watson met.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I'm finally getting around to finishing this story! But looks like I've made it a bit longer than I was planning, so there will be at least one more chapter to go.

Sherlock paced back and forth in the unfamiliar flat. Since Q had called him, he was nervous. Moran had to know he was alive, there was no other way that note made sense. Unless he was fishing for information. If John had reacted a certain way, the sniper would know that John knew he was alive. Luckily, that wasn’t a problem – although it had probably planted some doubt. Which meant he at least suspected, but wasn’t sure. It was a trick to try to bring him out, perhaps even to get the doctor to investigate himself. If he showed his face, Moran would kill John. But if he didn’t… He might still kill John. That was the threat anyway.

The detective scrubbed his hands through his hair, and threw himself down on the sofa. There was really no guarantee as to what Moran would do. He had nothing to go on except the rumors of scared underlings, fleeting impressions made by an experienced killer in charge of keeping the attention away from his boss, and his military records. What was his motivation now? Moriarty was dead, Moran was a gun for hire. It could be he felt loyal enough to the psychopath to carry out his last orders, but records show he didn’t really have a sense of loyalty – whether it is to Queen and Country or to the highest bidder. So that meant there was some other reason he felt obligated, and it wasn’t the money or for the sake of keeping the network going. Sherlock had successfully weakened it so that all he had to do was take down the dishonored colonel and the rest would fall. So what was it? What kept Moran from moving on-

“Oh,” he breathed.

“What? What is it, Sherlock? I know that tone, tell me what you figured out.” Q’s voice had a metallic edge to it coming out of the phone’s speaker. The older twin had thrown it on the coffee table so he could think.

“He hasn’t moved on. _Why_ hasn’t he moved on? Think! His boss is dead, the network is falling apart all around him, he’s no longer getting paid. A dishonored military man becomes a gun for hire and _doesn’t_ move on when the money stops? No. No, no.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, get to the point!”

“They were lovers, Quentin. Moriarty and Moran were lovers. That’s the only logical reason he would still care about- Oh. It was part of the plan. He knew it was a possibility I would refuse to jump, or that I would somehow be able to get information from him. I was too stubborn to jump, so he killed himself and forced my hand. I took Jim from him, so he’s going to take John from me.”

***

The bell rang from downstairs and at first John ignored it. But when it rang again, more insistent, he remembered that Mrs. Hudson had gone out, leaving him to answer the door. And he knew it wasn’t Greg or the person that had threatened him because they would have just walked in without warning. Which is why, even though he hadn’t known who to expect, he was surprised.

“Y-You… You were at the funeral,” he said, looking between the two men. One was clearly military, possibly Secret Service now given the suit he was wearing, but the other was skinnier and younger, wearing jeans and a hoodie pulled up over his hair, with a computer bag slung over his shoulder. At the funeral, he had seen them over the casket and John had thought he was putting Sherlock’s face over the slighter one’s to cope. Now he could see they really did look alike in an eerie sort of way. Though out of the formal attire they wore at the funeral, they didn’t seem like they should be on his doorstep at the same time, at least in John’s mind.

Sherlock’s look-alike gave him a small smile to recognize what he said then asked, “May we come in, Dr. Watson?”

John froze for a moment but quickly nodded and stepped aside to let them in. As soon as the door closed, the younger man let the hood slide off his head and ran a hand through his hair to loosen the curls. In that moment he had never looked more like the late detective, and the doctor had to shake himself before leading them up to the flat.

Once they made it up, John offered them a seat on the sofa, which the younger took gratefully; but, not the older blonde because he took out a small handheld device and began walking around the room. “James is just searching for bugs,” the man said to John’s unasked question. Getting an ‘all clear’ he continued, “Dr. Watson, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m here on behalf of my brother.”

“Your brother? I don’t understand.”

“No, I suppose not.” The blonde came to sit down next to him, and he shifted to make room. “I suppose I should introduce myself then. My name is Quentin Holmes, Dr. Watson. I’m Sherlock’s twin brother.”

“…I’m sorry? Brother? No.” John shook his head. “No. I would’ve known. I would’ve known if he had another brother; a twin. I-” He swallowed and looked away. The man, Quentin, looked at him sadly. “How could _I_ not know?”

“John,” he started. “My brothers and I have always been very secretive. It comes with being a member of the Holmes family. But he didn’t tell you about me because he couldn’t, not because he didn’t trust you.” From the confused look on the doctor’s face he could see that what he saying wasn’t helping clear up anything. “Outside of family, and a few of my superiors no one knows of my identity. For anyone that knew me before 5 years ago, they think I died in a plane crash coming home from a holiday in Greece. To everyone else I am the Quartermaster of MI-6, better known as Q.”

“MI-6?” John looked between them. “You work for MI-6? Christ… You Holmes's must be trying to take over the world…”

Quentin grinned. “No, I’m afraid that’s just Mycroft. Sherlock just wants to not be bored, and I just need an outlet for my computer skills that won’t get me sent to prison.” John couldn’t help but smile back at him, but it quickly faded.

“Look, Quentin-“

“Q, please.”

“Q… I don’t mean to sound rude, but why are you here? It’s not like you suddenly decided we should meet. I would have never even known you existed if you hadn’t come over.”

Q looked sad then. “My brother and I were very close, John. After I got recruited into MI-6, I had to stop most contact with him, and I worried about him all the time. I worried that if he needed someone, he wouldn’t go to Mycroft and he couldn’t come to me. But he had you. You were there for him even when he didn’t want you to be… And for that I consider you part of the family.”

John looked at him in surprise. “But… That still doesn’t-” He cut off when Q held up a hand to stop him.

“You are family, John. I protect my family, especially when they have threats dangling over their heads.” The doctor looked shocked at the mention of that morning. “You are in danger, Dr. Watson, because someone believes my brother is still alive. That someone is trying to carry on in Moriarty’s footsteps, and I won’t let my brother’s death be in vain.”

“What do you mean?”

“He died to protect you, John… You didn’t really think he would kill himself because of what the papers said, instead of eventually clearing his name? I couldn’t believe it when Mycroft called to tell me. I _know_ my brother. I know he wouldn’t have done it unless he was pushed to. He was much too prideful to care about a reputation. All that mattered was what family and friends thought, and besides you he didn’t really have friends in abundance.

“So I looked into it. I found that Mycroft’s people had been over the roof, and found blood they missed. Analysis said it was Moriarty’s. Then I looked into Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson’s day, and found there were a repairman that wasn’t a repairman, and an officer that wasn’t an officer. It was a bit harder with you. But eventually, with some digging, I found that Moriarty’s second-in-command was a dishonorably discharged sniper from the army. Tell me, John, have you ever heard of Colonel Sebastian Moran?”

***

Unknown to John, Sherlock was listening in. He was of course not happy about sitting out, but they had agreed a better time to reunite with John would be after the threat was gone. It surprised him how easily Quentin had given a story about not believing the suicide was his idea, and then elaborated with the information Sherlock had given him. But then, he _was_ Sherlock’s twin brother, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. At the very least, he was happy just to hear the doctor’s voice again.

Apparently John hadn’t heard of Moran before, so Q handed over his file as he explained what the sniper wanted with him. After the detective deduced Moran’s relationship with his boss, it hadn’t been hard to connect the rest of the strings and give his little brother a framework on which to spin his story.

Sherlock let himself fade out of the conversation, building a map in his mind palace of Baker Street to see where Moran would set himself up. It would have to be close to John, since he would need to act quickly, and John wouldn’t be leaving the flat much now that he knew he was in danger. Moran had to be in one of the flats opposite 221B.

Coming back into awareness, he heard his brother getting up to leave while explaining that Bond would be staying with him for protection. He expected John to protest that he didn’t need protection but it never came. Sherlock quickly sent off a text explaining his theory about where Moran would be to Q. They could go over results tomorrow, but for now he could hear a memory of John nagging him to eat and get some sleep. And for the first time in so many weeks, he listened.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh noes! I wrote a cliffhanger! Will post the next chapter soon!  
> Let me know what you think and don't be shy about it. I can take critism in all its forms.


End file.
